My Favourite Philistine
by Oh Moneypenny
Summary: Peter does Neal a favour by accompanying him to an art exhibition. Neal thinks Peter is an absolute Philistine, but he finds that he enjoys teaching him a little bit about art. Maybe anyone can become an appreciator of fine art. Will be multiple chaptered. Enjoy!


**Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar. **

**Summary: Peter does Neal a favour by accompanying him to an art exhibition. Neal thinks Peter is an absolute Philistine, but he finds that he enjoys teaching him a little bit about art. Maybe anyone can become an appreciator of fine art. Will be multiple chaptered. Enjoy! **

**Chapter 1 - Chiaroscuro**

_Chiaroscuro - Italian, light and dark. Defined contrast of light and dark most particularly used in candle-lit scenes. Term used to describe works by Rembrandt and Caravaggio. _

"Peter!" Neal shouted while knocking on Peter Burke's front door. It was all quiet from the other side of the door, and Neal wanted to get going soon. In one hand, he clutched a leaflet for an art exhibition across town. All week, Neal had been begging Peter to come with him since it was a good bit out side of his wretched radius.

To start with, Peter had shaken his head and told Neal there was no way he'd escort him to the damned art exhibition, but then Neal had saved him from gunpoint without a care for his own safety. He had thrown himself in front of Peter, claiming that it was his own fault for Peter ending up there anyway.

Both out of breath and leaning against a wall, they watched Diana take great pleasure in slamming the criminal face first against a door and handcuffing him. Peter had turned to Neal, "You didn't need to do that."

"Come on," Neal grinned, looking down at the floor for a moment. "Let's just say… you owe me one." Peter had thought nothing of it at the time, but apparently Neal was cashing in the favour by asking him to accompany him to an art gallery for the day. And Peter couldn't say no… whether it was because he owed him one, or whether it was because of that grin, he couldn't quite tell. And so that's why Neal was standing on Peter's front step, dressed immaculately, early on a Saturday morning.

Peter answered the door looking tired. "You're early," he grumbled, stepping aside to let Neal in.

"Great art deserves great appreciation, Peter," Neal said with a sigh as he bent down to scratch Satchmo behind the ears. "Hey, at least with you there, you won't have to worry about me stealing that nice Rembrandt they're showing at the moment…"

Peter just rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs to get ready. Neal smiled. It was going to be a great day.

* * *

Peter stood in front of a painting, forehead creased slightly. According to the gallery guide, this was meant to represent the slow change in society through political impact. Peter frowned again, looking at the painting. He couldn't see the meaning. There was nothing to do with politics in the painting. Not a damn thing.

He moved along the wall a little, sighing as he took in another obscure painting. "I'm sure this has a wonderfully deep meaning," Peter sighed, glancing down at the gallery guide.

"It does," Neal said. "Look at the lines. Solid black, which is rare to find in a painting from this era." Neal gestured to the date under the painting. "Bold, don't you think?"

* * *

"Oh... yeah," Peter said, trying not to scoff.

"You don't see it?" Neal questioned, shifting his gaze from the painting to Peter's face.

Peter turned a glare on Neal.

"Okay, so that'll be a no. Let's move on."

"You're hating this, aren't you?" Neal asked as they sat down for lunch in the gallery restaurant.

"I'm just not an art person," Peter said, meeting Neal's gaze for a moment before looking down at the menu.

"Yeah, I forgot... you're more of a Mathlete. No?" Neal grinned.

"No, Neal. I keep telling you-"

"Yeah, I know. Athlete who was good at maths." Neal laughed. "See, I listen?"

"I'm sure you have selective hearing."

Neal was quiet for a long moment then looked up with a glint in his eye. "Sorry, what was that?"

Peter couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

The stood in front of a Rembrant painting together. Neal sighed and took a faltering step forward, his head tilting to the side a little as he took the entire piece in. "Amazing," he muttered under his breath. The early afternoon light filtered perfectly as that the painting really was done justice. He turned to Peter, "Do you like it?"

"It's... nice." Peter said, looking closely at the painting.

"Nice? Peter, look at the finesse of the brushstrokes, the Chiaroscuro - the contrasts really are what makes this painting breathtaking." Peter frowned, Neal sighed. "Look," he continued. "Come here, stand where I am."

Peter moved over to where Neal was standing, and Neal moved behind Peter, putting a guiding hand on his hip gently. "No, move back a bit."

"It looks exactly the same, Neal."

"Will you just _look_?" Neal said, rolling his eyes, "The light falls differently here." He looked over Peter's shoulder, practically hearing the wheels turning in Peter's head as he tried to decipher the painting. It was at that moment he realised his hand was still on Peter's hip, his fingers idly playing with the belt loop on Peter's trousers.

"Mm," Peter said, peering at the painting. "I see what you mean."

"You do?"

"Yeah, the use of light against dark makes the contrast more noticeable. It also makes the folds of material and texture of skin appear a lot more realistic, especially with the use of candle light in the scene."

Neal arched an eyebrow, coming round to stand in front of Peter. He glanced down and saw the gallery book in his hand. "And I suppose that's your honest opinion of this painting?" He reached down and took the guide out of Peter's hand, finding it open at the page describing the exact painting they were standing in front of.

* * *

They moved onto the next painting, and Peter suddenly realised quite how long they had stood in front of the last painting, with Neal behind him and his hand playing on his hip. The other thing he realised, was that it hadn't felt all that bad to have Neal close and muttering about art in his ear - even if he didn't know what the hell chiaroscuro was.

* * *

To be continued.


End file.
